Authors: Deirdre Savoy
Body Of Truth (25 page)
She needed her life back. She needed her work back. Even though she'd thought herself burnt out and frustrated only a few days ago, her job was important to her. The woman working in Joanna's place had assured her that At-Home Healthcare wanted her to take as much time off as she needed under the circumstances, but she didn't want any more time. At least not cooped up somewhere with no alternatives.
She went to the kitchen and checked the rice. It was done, as well as the chicken she'd fried and the biscuits she'd made from a mix she'd found in one of the cupboards. They hadn't finished the salad she made last night, so that would serve as their vegetable.
As she worked, she listened for the sound of the shower cutting off. Jonathan told her he had good news and bad. She didn't know what either of those might be, but with a sinking certainty, she doubted he was about to tell her what she really wanted to hearâthat it was over and her life was once again her own.
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Jonathan left the bathroom to head for the dining room. Dana was standing by the table with her back to him. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his nose against her neck. “Everything looks good.”
“Then sit down.”
He could feel the tension in her body and in the way she spoke those three sharp words. He couldn't blame her. She must be more anxious than he for this case to be over. He did as she asked, taking his usual spot at the table. They filled their plates. He'd barely gotten a forkful into his mouth before she asked, “What's the good news?”
“I think I've found who Amanda Pierce was visiting in the building. You know him as Old Specs.”
Dana's mouth dropped open. “You're kidding me. I spoke to him. He didn't tell me anything about seeing Amanda Pierce.”
“Did you ask him?”
“Well, no. I only asked him about what he'd seen the morning I got shot. It didn't occur to me to ask him about Pierce. Why would she have been talking to him anyway?”
“Apparently, twenty-five years ago, he was living on the streets around the church. Father Malone took pity on him and let him sleep in the back of the church sometimes. The man I spoke to thinks he might have seen something the night the priest was killed that he told to Pierce.”
“And she got killed for it? How would anyone know so quickly what she'd found out?”
Jonathan shrugged. “Maybe it wasn't the first time she'd visited him? For all we know, he could have set the fire and set her up to be killed by someone else. I don't know, but I was loath to drag an eighty-year-old cripple into the stationhouse to find out. I figured I'd sic my partner on him tomorrow. Maybe a female will have better luck.”
Dana shook her head. “He won't talk to her. He doesn't like cops, either. His son was shot and killed by the police. He told me that when you came around asking about Amanda Pierce, he lied, saying he wouldn't tell the police anything. He took a certain amount of pleasure in telling me that.”
“What do you suggest I do?”
“Let me talk to him.”
His jaw tightened. “Absolutely not.”
“Look, Jon, he's not going to talk to you, but he's already spoken to me. You already told me that nobody in the neighborhood was out to get me. What harm could it do? If anyone suspected he knew anything he'd be dead by now.”
She did have a point, but he wasn't willing to concede it yet. He didn't want her involved any more than she already was.
“What if he's the one who set the fire and is trying to cover it up? What do you expect he'll tell you then?”
“Probably nothing, but it's worth a shot.”
Maybe, but he wasn't willing to chance it. Apparently she thought the old man was harmless, but he didn't. Randall's being in a wheelchair didn't make it impossible for him to wield a knife or fire a gun if the need arose. Given the level of animosity he'd seen in Randall both times, he didn't put it past the man to become violent if provoked. “No, it's not.”
“Why don't you ask your partner what she thinks of my idea?”
He didn't have to. He knew Mari would want to go for it. Damn, just what he'd needâthe two of them aligned against him. But it would take more than he and Mari to make this work. He'd have to bring it to Shea, who'd probably do an Irish jig at the prospect of getting to the bottom of the case. Maybe Mari was right about him letting his emotions get in the way of his work, but he'd rather find some other way to get Randall to talk. Damn.
“If you are sure you want to do this, I would need to get it okayed. We would need you to wear a wire so that we can hear what he says.”
“I know you don't want me to do this Jonathan, but I have to know. If Old Specs can tell me, then I have to try. I can't spend the rest of my life hiding.”
“I'll let you know,” was all he was willing to concede at the moment. But he knew he could probably get everything in place by late tomorrow morning if he wanted to. That was the question of the hour for which he didn't yet have the answer, because as much as he wanted to find Pierce's killer, he wanted Dana safe more. In the end, though, the only way to really protect her was to find out the truth.
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By ten o'clock the next morning, the arrangements had been made for Dana to speak to Randall. At the stationhouse she'd been wired for sound with a small microphone taped between her breasts. Presently, they sat in an unmarked police van around the corner from the building on Highland Avenue. Two officers would accompany Dana into the building while he and Mari stayed in the van with the techs listening to the conversation. He would give the go ahead if anyone needed to rush the apartment if Dana was in trouble.
He gazed over at Dana, who had a look of determination on her face. Even though it was clear to him, he asked her, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“You know that I am.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, wishing he could think of something to change her mind, but honestly, he admired her courage.
Mari coughed, trying to draw their attention. “Let's get this show on the road before we become a neighborhood curiosity.” She pushed open the van's back door and got out. Dana followed her.
Mari said, “Remember, keep your hands away from your chest, or you'll distort the transmission. Try not to cough or sneeze. And don't sweat.”
“I know.”
“Keep him talking as much as you can, but try to focus on Father Malone.”
Dana nodded. “I understand.” Then she looked at him, the expression in her eyes pleading with him to understand why she felt she had to do this. He did understand, but that didn't mean he had to like it. More than what might happen here worried him, though. She'd already proven that she was willing to risk her life to find out what happened by coming here the first time. She'd promised him she'd stay out of it, and until now, she'd kept her word. What else would she be willing to do to catch this killer?
The two officers who were to accompany her into the building joined them and she walked off without saying another word to him.
Mari climbed back into the van, sat and pulled the door closed. “You sure know how to pick 'em, Stone” Mari said, but there was admiration, not censure, in her voice.
“Thanks,” he said.
Flanked by the two officers, Dana entered through the side door used by building maintenance to empty the trash. They had no idea how much Old Specs, or Theodore Randall as she had come to know him, could see from his front view and they didn't want to take any chances he'd know she was coming before she got there.
As they walked through the building, the palm of her hand clutching her nurse's bag grew clammy. She was supposed to tell Teddy that she was visiting her patients in the building and had decided to check on him. If he weren't involved in Pierce's death, it was a harmless ruse. If he were, no lie on earth would keep him from knowing her true purpose there.
She stopped in front of Teddy's door while the two officers hid from view. Having Teddy spot them when he came to the door would defeat their purpose. The moment she got inside, they would take up positions by the door where they would be able to come to her aid quickly if they needed to.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, she heard Teddy's, “Who is it?”
She took another deep breath. “It's me, Teddy. Dana Molloy from At-Home Healthcare.”
The door was pulled open. Teddy sat in his chair, a grin on his face. “What brings a pretty thing like you to my door?”
Good God, the old geezer was flirting with her. “I was in the building and thought I'd check on you. Find out how you were doing since the other day.”
“Come in, child, if you've got a minute. I sure could use some company.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Teddy rolled back to let her enter. “Go on in the living room. You know where to sit.”
She did as he asked, resisting the urge to look behind her to see if the officers were moving in. She knew they wouldn't do that until the door closed, but the temptation to check assailed her anyway.
She sat, set her bag on the floor and waited for Teddy to wheel himself into position across from her. The first thing he did was to check the view outside his window. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “I've got some iced tea.”
“That would be fine.”
With a pleased smile, he rolled off toward the kitchen. He was saying something to her that she could barely make out about the weather, his relief that the heat spell had finally broken. She tuned him out and took that opportunity to slide her hand through the slats of the Venetian blinds. She waved to the unmarked car parked across the street, one of the signs that everything was okay that she could use if she got the opportunity.
She snatched her hand back instants before Teddy returned with two glasses of tea resting on a tray on his lap. He handed one to her. “Thanks,” she said, took the smallest sip possible and set it on the table beside her. The drink held no chemical aftertaste, but she wasn't taking any chances that he might try to poison her.
Teddy took a big gulp from his glass. He eyed her with a look, part skepticism, part concern. “Aren't you back to work a little soon? They make you come in?”
“Something like that. My brother is starting college in the fall. I need the money.”
“How old is he?”
“Seventeen.”
Teddy nodded. “The same age my boy was when they gunned him down. I wish I could have gotten him interested in going to school instead of running the streets. Maybe he'd be alive today.”
An idea seized her. Although Teddy looked to be in his seventies, drinking, the kind he must have done, aged a person. Jonathan pulled his records this morning and found out he was only sixty-seven. Twenty-five years ago, he would have been forty-two, young enough to have a son only seventeen. “Is that when you started drinking? After he died?”
His chest puffed up and he looked back at her with indignation flashing in his eyes. “Who told you that?”
“Teddy, I'm a nurse. I know these things, and I understand.”
All the air seemed to deflate out of him. “Yeah, that's when it happened. I couldn't take losing my boy the way I did. Not getting any justice for his murder. They called the shooting justified, even though he had no gun, no weapon of any kind.”
She could see how such a thing might push a man over the edge. Though she felt tempted to leave him alone with what was still a palpable grief, she remembered the edict to keep him talking. “What happened?”
“I lost myself in the bottle, that's what. I left my familyâmy wife and my daughter. I wasn't any good to them anymore the way I was. I found myself living on the street near some old church. The Father there used to let me sleep in this little room at the back of the church so I didn't freeze myself to death in the winters. He was good to me in many ways, even after he died.”
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